“Dat I will!”
“Then repeat that story of the vision you told me last night, and apply it to the Judge—will you do it?”
“Make de movement, an’ I sho’ ye!” whispered Isaac.
Larkin’s bold motion, a direct appeal to the Negro to use his power against the white man, took the Judge’s breath. He stared at his opponent in blank amazement while Larkin smiled at him with good-natured contempt.
“And I have asked,” continued the Carpetbagger, “a distinguished leader of his race, Mr. Isaac A. Postle, a constituent and neighbour of Judge Butler, to address the Convention before the motion is opened to general debate. I am sure the Convention will give its unanimous consent to hear him.”
The roar of applause which greeted this remark left no doubt as to their consent. Larkin seized Isaac and drew him before the speaker’s table with his arm again affectionately around him.
Isaac was in a broad grin and evidently enjoyed his honours. He cleared his throat and glanced at the Judge. The Negroes burst into roars of laughter and the Apostle lifted his hand solemnly for silence.
Butler scowled and shuffled uneasily while Larkin’s face was wreathed in smiles.
“Gemmens an’ feller citizens!” Isaac began with great deliberation. “I’se called by de Lawd dis mawnin’ ter come up on high and expose de vision dat I seed in de dead er de night las’ week. I drempt a dream. I dream dat I die and go ter heaben. An’ as I wuz gwine long up de hill ter de pearly gates who should I meet comin’ down de hill but our good frien’ Judge Butler——”
The Judge gave a sharp little angry cough, pulled his long black whiskers and crossed his legs quickly. Isaac glanced at him and walled his eyes at the dusky crowd who broke into another roar of laughter.